Imatges de pàgina
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Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breaft! 'Would I were fleep and peace, so sweet to reft! Hence will I to my ghoftly Friar's close cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

SCENE changes to a Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, with a basket.

[Exit.

HE grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning

TH

Fri. night,

Check'ring the eaftern clouds with ftreaks of light:
And darkness flecker'd, like a drunkard, reels
From forth day's path, and Titan's burning wheels.
Now ere the fun, advance his burning eye,

The day to chear, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up this ofier-cage of ours

With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb;
And from her womb children of divers kind
We fucking on her natural bosom find:
Many for many virtues excellent,

None but for fome, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies.
In plants, herbs, ftones, and their true qualities.
Nor nought fo vile, that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth fome fpecial good doth give:
Nor aught fo good, but, ftrain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, ftumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice, being mifapplied;
And vice fometime by action's dignify'd.
Within the infant rind of this fmall flower
Poifon hath refidence, and med'cine power:
For this being fmelt, with that fenfe chears each part;
Being tafted, flays all fenfes with the heart.
Two fuch oppofed foes encamp them ftil
In man, as well as herbs, grace and rude will:
And where the worfer is predominant,

Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good-morrow, father.

Fri. Benedicite!

What early tongue fo fweet faluteth me?
Young fon, it argues a diftemper'd head
So foon to bid good-morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And, where care lodgeth, fleep will never lie:
But where unbruifed youth with unftuft brain
Doth coach his limbs, there golden fleep doth reign.
'Therefore thy earlinefs doth me affure,
Thou art up-rouz'd by fome diftemp'rature;
Or if not fo, then here I hit it right,

Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That laft is true, the fweeter reft was mine.
Fri. God pardon fin! waft thou with Rofaline?
Rom. With Rofaline, my ghoftly father? no.
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri.That's my good fon: but where haft thou been then?
Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou afk it me again;

I have been feafting with mine enemy;
Where, on a fudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy phyfick lies;
I bear no hatred, bleffed man, for, lo,
My interceffion likewife fteads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good fon, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confeffion finds but riddling fhrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is fet On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;

As mine on hers, fo hers is fet on mine;

And all combin'd; fave what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exhange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we país; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.

Fri. Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rofaline, whom thou didst love to dear,

So foon forfaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jefu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath washt thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline?
How much falt-water thrown away in wafte,
To feafon love, that of it doth not tafte?
The fun not yet thy fighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears:
Lo, here upon thy cheek the ftain doth fit
Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou waft thyfelf, and these woes thine,
Thou and thefe woes were all for Rofaline.

And art thou chang'd? pronounce this fentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no ftrength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'ft me oft for loving Rofaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'ft me bury love.

Fri. Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have.

Rom. I pray thee, chide not: fhe, whom I love now, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow : The other did not fo.

Fri. Oh, the knew well,

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come and go with me,
Fu one refpe&t I'll thy affiftant be:

For this alliance may fo happy prove,

To turn your houthold-rancour to pure love.
Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte.
Fri. Wifely and flow; they ftumble, that run faft.

Mer.

[Exeunt

SCENE changes to the STREET.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Here the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he not home to-night?

WH

Ben. Not to his father's, 1 fpoke with his man.
Mer. Why, that fame pale, hard-hearted, wench, that

Rafaline,

Rofaline, torments him fo, that he will, fure, run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinfman to old Capulet,
Hath fent a letter to his father's houfe.

Mer. A challenge, on my life.

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will anfwer the letter's mafter, how he dares, being dar'd.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-fong; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-fhaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats?-Oh, he's the couragious captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick'd-fongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift; a gentleman of the very firft houfe, of the first and fecond caufe; ah, the immortal paffada, the punto reverfo, the, hay!

66

Ben. The what?

86

Mer. The pox of fuch antick, lifping, affected phantafies, these new tuners of accents: Jefu! a very good blade a very tall man! -a very good "whore!". Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we fhould be thus afflicted with these ftrange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at cafe on the old bench? O, their bon's, their bon's! (7)

(7) 0, their bones! their bones!] Mercutio is here ridiculing those frenchified fantastical Coxcombs whom he calls pardonnez-moy's: and therefore, I fufpect, here he meant to write French too.

O, their bon's! their bon's.

i. e. How ridiculous they make themselves in crying out Good, and being in Ecftafies with every Trifle as he has just described them before.

-Jefu! a very good blade! &c.

Enter

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipfy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibé a grey eye or fo, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour; there's a French falutation to your French flop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly. laft night.

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Rem. Good-morrow to you both: What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my bufinefs was great; and, in fuch a cafe as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy. Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning, to curt'fy.

Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit it.

Rom. A most courteous expofition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.-

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd.

Mer. Sure wit-follow me this jeft, now, till thou haft worn out thy pump, that when the fingle fole of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, folely fingular.

Rom. O fingle-fol'd jeft,

Solely fingular, for the finglenefs!

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints. Rom. Switch and spurs,

Switch and fpurs, or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goofe chafe, I am done for thou haft more of the wild-goofe in one of thy wits, than, I am fure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goofe?

Rom.

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